Signs of Bravery
by ObsessivelyOdd
Summary: Alex Rider has a reputation. Christine was more than happy to find out if it's true. But it's more than a chance for him to prove himself. She gets to prove herself too. ONE-SHOT. Alex/OFC.


**A/N: No idea where this came from. It's just a drabble really, but I hope you like it. Alex is eighteen in this fic, by the way, so no underage anything implied.**

**DISCLAIMER: None of it is mine, all of it belongs to Anthony Horrowitz. He's welcome to keep James Barros.**

***

Alex Rider had a reputation. Oh, not the old one. No one believed he was in a gang, or doing drugs or anything like that. In fact, they had all given up trying to explain his mysterious absences years ago. The teachers just sighed and accepted the sick notes, not even bothering to look anymore, pacified by the rate at which he caught up and his undeniable academic ability.

No, Alex Rider had a reputation as being absolutely _amazing_ in bed.

How he had gained this reputation was a mystery, as no one knew anyone who he had slept with, but everyone knew it. He _didn't_ do relationships. Everyone knew that, though none knew why. They were sure it wasn't that he preferred one night stands and he definitely didn't view people as objects for his pleasure- in fact he treated everyone who had the honour of attracting his desire as a rare and priceless treasure, to be worshipped and revered.

He was proving this point exceptionally well with Christine.

She sighed with pleasure as his lips ghosted along the smooth skin of shoulder and up her neck, even as he raised the sponge and washed the soap from her back removing the last traces of the night before from her skin.

"So beautiful..." he murmured, placing a kiss directly behind her ear.

She hummed in agreement and reciprocation and felt him smile against her skin.

"You were amazing, last night," he whispered.

She smiled. "You weren't too bad yourself," she joked and was rewarded with an amused chuckle.

Again, she was reminded that it wasn't just his body or his skill that attracted the countless girls – and guys – to him. He was also fun and easy to be with. He could discuss politics as easily as school and had proved himself well versed in an eclectic mix of subjects, ranging from computers to poetry. He was known as a hero around the school after he had saved a year nine from a violent mugging three months ago. There was no doubt that, despite his mystery –or perhaps because of it, thought Christine, shuddering as his hand traced the slight swell in her abdomen – he was the golden boy of the school: smart, athletic and noble. A few vicious names circulated about him, calling him a man-whore or a druggie, but they were ignored by most of the school and the few who did listen were, more often than not, jealous because of his success with his fellow students or because they desired him themselves but were too scared of rejection to do anything about him.

But even they didn't really believe the rumours. It was almost impossible to think anything bad of the beautiful, self assured, considerate young man who proved, time and again, that he had only the best intentions.

She turned to face him and firmly ran her hands up his stomach to his muscular chest, idly tracing a scar with his thumb. Some girls said it was a shame that the marks marred such perfection, but Christine thought it only enhanced him, though she had no idea how he had got them.

He sighed with pleasure and reached out a hand to turn off the shower.

"Come on," he muttered. "We had better get dressed. Don't you have a dance lesson in an hour?"

She blinked. She did, and she had told him about her lessons briefly at dinner last night, but she hadn't expected him to remember. Most boys wouldn't.

"Yeah," she murmured, stepping out of the shower and passing him a towel before wrapping one firmly around herself.

Together they went back into his bedroom. She glanced wistfully at the rumpled bed sheets before sighing and pulling on her clothes. Luckily, she had had the foresight to leave her dance things at the class last week, so she wouldn't have to go home first.

She had just pulled on her T-shirt and turned back to him when he stiffened and turned to the window.

"Something's wrong," he muttered to himself.

"Christine, listen to me," he said to her urgently. "I need you to trust me."

He dived down under his bed and fumbled around for a minute.

"Alex? What's wrong?" she asked, tremulously. Something in his tone had made her scared.

"There is a secret compartment. It's small, but I need you to hide in there."

"What's going on?" she asked panicking.

Gently, he turned her to face him. She found her panic calming under his confident brown gaze, even clouded with concern as it was. Despite the inappropriate timing, she couldn't help but feel a thrill at the thought – _concern for her_.

"I need you to trust me," he said, softly, his eyes pleading with her to do just that. And, inexplicably, she found that she did.

He pulled the cover across.

"No matter what you hear," he warned, before his face disappeared from sight. "Don't come out. And keep quiet!"

She nodded, and the cover clicked closed.

Barely a second later, she heard glass shatter and heavy boots on the floor.

"You know why we're here, Rider," said a harsh voice, low with menace.

"Yeah, I do," drawled Alex. "And you can go to hell."

"You little _brat_," snarled the man.

There was a crash, and Alex gave a low moan. It sounded as if he had been thrown into something.

"Are you going to tell us what we want to know or do we have to get... _creative_."

Christine shivered. Who _was_ Alex, and why were these people threatening him? Surely he would tell them.

Alex let off a low laugh, completely devoid of the humour from earlier. "You? Creative? I didn't think you would have the brains."

The man snarled and Alex gasped in pain.

Christine whimpered. What were they doing to him?

There was a sudden hush.

"Someone else here, Rider?" asked the man.

"No," said Alex, calmly. "Why would there be?"

"Let me rephrase that," said the man. "There _is_ someone else here. And we _will_ find them."

Alex growled and the man laughed. "Stop struggling, it won't do any good."

There was a pause. "Perry, check under the bed. The noise came from there."

There was a muffled thump, and a second voice spoke.

"There's nothing under here," he said.

"Are you sure?" said the first man.

"Yeah," said the second, "There's absolutely- Wait. Hang on a minute. There's..."

The cover was drawn back with a rough scrape and a face was staring down at her.

"There's a girl down here," said the face.

"Well get her out here," said the first voice.

Christine was roughly grabbed. She tried to struggle, but the man ignored her and yanked her out by the arm. Tears stung her eyes as his fingernails dug in cruelly, but she stubbornly blinked them back and bit her lip.

There were three men in the room, plus the one who had pulled her out – Perry, wasn't he called? Two of them were holding Alex's arms. The teen had bruises on his face and blood was trickling down his face from a cut near his temple.

"Who are you?" asked one man.

"Christine," sniffed Christine. "Why are you here? What do you want with Alex?"

The man raised an eyebrow.

"You don't know?" he said, surprised. "Oh well, not my business."

He turned back to Alex.

"Where's the detonator, Rider," he said.

"What detonator?" said Alex, a look of seemingly genuine confusion on his handsome face.

Christine screamed as something sharp and lethal sliced across her face. It wasn't until she saw the knife in Perry's hand, red with her blood, that she realised what had happened. She barely heard the gasping sobs issuing from her mouth.

Alex looked sick.

"Are you going to tell us Rider?" asked the first man, "or does your girlfriend here get another taste of my friend's knife?"

"No," said Alex, dejectedly. "I'll tell you. Just let her go."

The man nodded to Perry who shoved her backwards. She landed on the bed and immediately scrambled back.

Alex looked at her, as if reassuring himself that she was ok. Lord, but he looked a state. His entire left cheek was swollen and bruised and the blood had begun to soak into the collar of his shirt.

And somehow, he still looked calm, and in control. Suddenly she knew that he would get her out of this.

He sighed and looked down. Suddenly, one of the men behind him doubled over with a groan and the other quickly joined him. Alex span around and knocked one out with a kick to the throat and the other with his fist.

He moved quickly towards Perry who was closest to Christine. She didn't have time to marvel at his mastery of unarmed combat though, as the leader crossed to her and yanked her off the bed.

He drew a knife and Christine whimpered as it pressed against the base of her throat.

Alex felled Perry, but he seemed to be wearing down. He was panting, and leaning on the bedside table.

"Come, Rider," said the leader. "No more games. Tell me what I want to know, or the girl dies."

"Alright, alright," said Alex. "There's a warehouse on the Thames. You can only get to it from the river, not the roads. You'll see workmen outside on the docks. They're really agents. Inside there are two squads of SAS. The detonator itself is in a safe in the office on the second floor."

The man smiled. "Thank you," he said, then sneered. "I thought you'd be tougher to crack, Rider. After all, you're supposed to be the best."

Alex smirked. "I am," he said, and a gunshot went off.

Christine screamed, then sank to her knees as the man behind her collapsed, a bullet between his eyes.

She was half hysterical, when Alex helped her to her feet and sat her on the bed.

"Are you ok?" he asked, carefully inspecting her throat. It wasn't even nicked.

She nodded shakily and winced as his questing fingers rose to the cut on her face.

"It'll scar," he admitted quietly. "I'm sorry about that."

"Y-You saved my life," she stammered, latching her arms around him. He tensed uncomfortably for a moment, then an arm rose to cradle her against him.

"Y-You just shot him. Just t-to save m-me. Why?"

"I'm not a hero," he said, quietly. "I don't care whether something is right or wrong. I never bother with labels like just or noble. I just do what is necessary. I wasn't going to let him hurt you."

"Where did you get the gun?" she asked, after she had calmed down a bit.

"It was in the bedside draw," admitted Alex. "I got it out while I was pretending to be out of breath."

"That's not what I meant," she said, pouting slightly and Alex laughed. She gave a small, guilty grin and he kissed her reassuringly on the cheek.

"I have to call my bosses," he said. "I suppose I had better take you to hospital and get you checked over too. Guess you won't be able to go to dancing today, sorry."

"I'm not sure my legs would support me, anyway," she said.

"Yeah," sighed Alex. "I really am sorry."

***

Three weeks later all that was left of the confrontation was a thin, pink scar across her cheek. People had asked her what happened and she replied that she had been mugged. Everyone was very sympathetic and shocked, none more so than Alex. The way Tom looked at her made her think that he knew. He was Alex's best friend, after all, his only real close friend. She couldn't ask him though, just in case. They had never explained anything to her, but made her sign the official secrets act anyway. She was undeniably curious.

"Hey, Chrissie, wait up!" called a voice behind her. She half-turned, curiously, and saw James Barros hastening towards her. She smiled slightly at the nickname. It was new, ever since she had been returned to school. Alex still called her Christine.

"James," she greeted him, warmly. "How are you?"

"I'm good," he said with a smile. "God, did you here Mr Allaway in Biology this morning? He doesn't half like to pile on the work does he?"

She nodded her head in agreement. The biology project - the effects of a specific sport on the body – was large and she had been worrying about it, though she already had her sport.

"Have you chosen a sport yet?" he asked.

"Dance," she replied, with a smile. "I think I might have to check with Allaway if it's specific enough though. I don't-"

"Yeah, that's cool," interrupted James. She scowled slightly. "Look, I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my house tonight? My parents are out. We could rent a DVD, buy some popcorn, cuddle up on the sofa..."

She stopped in her tracks and turned to him incredulously. It was obvious what he wanted. Well, he could just go to hell.

"I'm sorry," she said coldly. "I have to wash my hair."

"Oh, come on, Chrissie," said James, "Don't be like that. It's not like you're completely flushed with offers, is it?"

"Excuse me?" she said, trying to keep the hurt on her face hid by anger.

"I mean," said James, smiling slightly, "with that scar-" her hand flew self-consciously to her cheek "- it's not as if you're incredibly attractive anymore."

She glared at him. "Piss off," she said.

"Oh, come on!" said James, apparently unable to believe she was turning him down. "You should be grateful. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?" He grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward.

"Get _off_ me," she snapped, angrily.

"Agree to come over," said James, still smiling, though she could see fury in his eyes.

"No! Now get off me!"

"Is there a problem here?" said a voice calmly.

Christine sagged with relief as she saw Alex standing behind James. God, but the man could move quietly.

"No," said James, "just piss off, Rider. This is none of your business."

"It appears to me as if the lady wants you to leave her alone," said Alex, his voice still deathly quiet.

James turned towards him, a sneer twisting his lips, but it faltered when it met Alex's implacable gaze.

"Wasn't worth it, anyway," he muttered and stalked off.

"Are you ok?" asked Alex, turning to her.

"I'm fine," she said, giving him a watery smile. "He just insult me a bit."

Alex frowned. "What did he say?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing, really," she said, raising a self conscious hand to her cheek.

Alex sighed.

"Don't be ashamed of the mark, Christine," he said quietly, his eyes warm with compassion. "You're even more beautiful with it than without."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek and stepped back. No matter what he said, she knew he was a hero. He certainly acted like one.

He smiled at her and spoke tenderly.

"It's a sign of your bravery."

***

**A/N: So, what did you think? Review if you liked it!**


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